Momochi Solitude
by zabuzasama26
Summary: One man's late will to live, and one woman's late will to love. ZabuzaxOC
1. My Lifelong Friend, Solitude

Momochi Solitude

Ch. 1: My lifelong friend, Solitude.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of it's characters. However, Asami is mine.

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><p>Zabuza stood over the graves neatly made on the edge of a cliff somewhere in Nami no Kuni. People from Konoha were too nice, weren't they? Graves for shinobi were as good as saying food for the dead. Yet here lay Haku, the innocent little boy he so wrongly raised, and himself, or the supposed dead carcass of himself under the great Kubikiri Boucho. He ran a finger over his bare jaw. Of course, he couldn't be out in the wild presumably dead without so much of a disguise can he? Well, if you can call what he came up with a disguise really. He had his face out in the open, his forehead protecter stowed away safely in his backpack slung over one shoulder. His hair neat and down now, rather than flying up because of his original way of tying the forehead protector slanted across his head. One single ruby earring hung from his left ear. It's shine was magnificent, radiating in the sunset. A simple open black jacket, exposing his bandaged abdomen. Simple black pants; in this attire he was no more than an innocent traveller, if he indeed was successful in masking his own chakura. As the sun went down and he cast the graves a final glance, he realized,<p>

He was alone again.

It was not a novel experience, it had happened many a time before. He was with someone from a brief amount of time, then he was alone. That was the pattern of his life. Only now, after Haku, and that loud bundle of orange, Naruto, he didn't think he appreciated the solitude anymore. The story of his survival involved a washed up mentor and a fake identity, but at the present moment, he was good enough to go. Return, was the correct word. He would return to the village he so hoped to return to as a conquerer, as a nameless traveller. That was not good, he must find a name, he would have to give one at the gates. Maybe that old man shoved one in the backpack? Identity papers that would save him a lot of trouble? Zabuza found a nearby rock and leaned on it, sliding the backpack off his shoulder and inspecting it's insides again. Some weaponry, a change of clothes, money and an envelope. Come to think of it, he hadn't opened it yet. He took out the blank envelope and tore it open, his eyes skimming over it's contents. A letter he was not in the mood to read at the moment, and ah yes, identity papers. His future name would be … Ken. Not bad, Zabuza thought, as he stuffed the papers back in and got up to continue on his way.

The trip to Mizu no Kuni from here was not all that bad. Possibly three days or so, a good enough time for him to reshuffle his priorities.* In that case though,

What were his priorities?

He had no priorities at the moment. All he had to focus on now was to live. How to get into to Kiri unnoticed, how to feed himself, how to get a job if indeed he were to stay in Kiri, where to stay, his life was a big ball of mess. It also occurred to him, that this mess was only brought about because he could not have his shinobi identity anymore. Other than being a shinobi, he did not know how to live. When entering the academy as a child, they taught you to throw kunai, shuriken, hold up a sword, martial arts, but there was never a class on life. As a shinobi, your life was dictated to you by whoever was above you in rank, all the way up to the Kage. You lived doing missions and you died achieving them. They were your purpose in life, and the top priority. But now …

Now he was no longer allowed to live that life. At least not for now. Tying the forehead protector around his head was the easiest thing he's ever done, his life was ordered to him on a scroll and that was that. Now though, what was he to do? He couldn't fight anymore he couldn't take on missions and those things were the only thing he's ever learnt to do. He came to the sore conclusion that it was completely pathetic of a shinobi to not know how to live if his or her resignation should come early. What if the wars ended? And missions were scarce? Would they seize to live? There must be a bigger purpose to life, than what being a shinobi taught you.

Zabuza camped out under the stars throughout those two days. And whenever he threw his head back and looked up, it was like he saw the sky for the very first time. As a shinobi you seldom enjoyed these sights, you died too quickly to realize the world that enveloped you. The great stretch of black dusted with sparkles was one sight he could not take his eyes off for the whole night. He felt, should he sleep, he'll lose the opportunity to gaze up at it forever. That boy, Naruto, he said something so great, so important, that threatened to change Zabuza's life around and, no it was already so, and he didn't even realize it.

_"If I grow up to be as strong as you, would I become as heartless as you are?"_

Words of wisdom coming out of the age of innocence. It was not surprising at all, that a little twelve year old made all the sense to him, he who had been engrossed in adult nonsense. Zabuza can't remember what was it like to be a child. All he remembered was, kunais, nightmares and the like. A prison called the academy. A final judgement cast over small children to forever turn them into stone. His bloodied hands at the age of only nine. Only nine. That little boy, the grandson of Tazuna, he was eight or so … he played, smiled, laughed around him when they bandaged a ' poor innocent soul in need of desperate help '. The exact words told to Tazuna by his savior were enough to have him in their household around their family, the Konoha genin and Kakashi … what was that old man thinking? Throwing him in the lion's den and it actually worked, he marveled to himself. It actually worked.

Life was not merely living up to the next mission. It was a lot more than that … and as Zabuza gazed up at the stars he wondered, who put them up there? Coincidence? Never. Nothing so intricately flawless comes about because of coincidence. A lump of rock can't just decide around which star it was going to orbit. Earth does not think for it self, it's made of rock and sand and water, no, someone designed it. Someone designed these flawless systems, biggest example would be his own body. Anything could go wrong in processes in the smallest cranny of the human cell, and he could mutate or die, and yet a cell functions perfectly within seconds and he lives by everyday as proof. All of it controlled by the brain sure, but the brain is also made of cells, and everything goes back to who brought about the first one? Coincidence? Zabuza scoffed in his head, never.

One thing Zabuza realized, people would say when in danger, ' oh God' . Everyone did. And another as well, 'thank God.' It didn't matter if they actually believed in God or not, but yes, they always called on him for help and thanks subconsciously. Here he himself began to think, he believed in heaven and hell, didn't that mean that he believed in God? But something occurred to him. How many did he believe in exactly? Which one was the right one to follow? Trinities and other concepts that he didn't understand. Looking up at the stars, smelling the salt by the sea, and marveling at why his fingers were so shaped as they were … Zabuza came to one conclusion. If there were more than one strong man in a village, they always fought for the rule of it. There was only one lion in the pride, and Uchiha Madara and Hashirama fought over Konoha. If he brought all those facts into consideration, there can only be One God. If there were more, they'd fight over the rule. And if there were more than one, it meant that one alone was imperfect. God cannot be imperfect. Therefore God can only be One.

Zabuza chuckled at himself slightly as he picked up a pebble and threw it in a lake. When has he ever given himself time to think about these things? About life and it's purpose? About a job and how to live? Never. He was living like a blind goat guided by the shepherd. He scowled as he considered his own metaphor, and soon it made his blood boil. He, the Demon of the Hidden Mist, the Master of Silent Killing, one of the Seven Swordsmen, a blind goat? A slave? When was he deemed the Kage's slave when his mother gave birth to him a free man?* Being a shinobi wasn't a job anymore, it was slavery. If it conflicted with his morals or not he had to carry out the mission, and that bordered slavery. The very reason he tried to rebel against Kiri seven years ago … Well, that and control and thirst for power … For now though, he thought as he kicked a pebble away, he didn't care anymore, not for control nor power.

Why? Simply because he was going to gain control of the village, then gain more power … then what? What was after the seeking of power? He'd still be living alone. Ah yes, his good friend solitude. Just the idea that Haku was no longer trailing behind him picking flowers, catching rabbits and fishing fish was enough to have his heart ache. And that was not good, he scoffed mentally, because it proved that every time he had heart ache he went on a killing spree. No, he would not go panting like a blood hound after power like the infamous Orochimaru is. He was the reason he lost that Suigetsu. Not that he really cared then, but now, newfound guilts plagued his heart.

Zabuza took a deep breath as he trudged now through the snow, the gates looming in front of him,

"Oi mister!" The guard at the gate called, motioning to him with one hand.

Zabuza sighed as he made his way to them, his face clearly stating he was not in the mood. He grunted as he got to there little stall of a watch place.

"You a local?"

Zabuza stared into the man's eyes for quite a while. Yes? or no? What did the papers say? His stare turned into a glare and the safest thing to do at the moment was fish out the papers. He threw them in front of the guards and the man frowned, eyeing his companion for a moment before he took a look at them. He rolled his eyes looking up to Zabuza, "You could've just nodded,"

The former shinobi took back the papers and stuffed them into his bag, moving away his face hot with embarrassment. Well what if the papers said no? They'd know it's fake, and he wasn't expected to memorize what the papers said … Yes he was, he scoffed at himself again.

The village was quite different from the last time he's been there. A change of Kages really does a lot … Children ran around with smiles, -that- was an achievement. Stalls were open, food was being cooked on the street and he found himself to be quite hungry. He stopped in front of one particular stall run by an old woman. She was selling freshly caught fish and grilling some shishamo* on the side. The little fish smelled perfect, and were rather fat as well. Full with eggs probably. Before he made a fool of himself again though, he opened his bag and checked the amount of money he had. He counted the bank notes like he was a human note counter. Flipping them with speed and precision counting with his eyes, like he's done it his whole life. It did not at all give away his current state of poverty. He had enough money for a week's food. And there was this little note in the envelope that said, ' Get a job. '

Damn you, he thought in return.

He took a considerable amount of money and placed on the shopkeeper's table, before picking one flaming hot little fish by the tail, and blowing on it once twice three times before taking a bite, yelping in the process. The fish were small to fit whole in his mouth to the tail, but too hot and too fat for a thing that size he only bit half off and held the other half between both his hands, juggling it around. He blew out hot air into the sky, fresh off the grill they were alright. His mouth was burning but in the same time his being was filled with satisfaction with every chew. It was delicious, when was the last time he actually tasted his food? He couldn't remember. He swallowed and popped the second half in his mouth, while the shopkeeper reached for a fan and started to wave it over the grill, sparks flying here and there, and the crackling of the fish's skin crumpling grew higher. The heat was also rewarding, he lived all his life in Kiri but the seven years he was away caused him to forget how cold it actually was.

There was a shuffling nearby and before Zabuza knew it his whole being shook slightly as something bumped into his legs and attempted to flee but lost it's footing and fell on the ground. He frowned, turning to see none other than a little orphan dusting the snow off of himself,

Zabuza snorted, "That's a lousy way to steal kid,"

The little boy let out a hmph! as he stood up frowning and glaring at the older man. His little face was scratched and his little toes were red. Well, Zabuza thought, that much didn't change. Without a moment's hesitation or even consideration he threw the little fish he had between his fingers to the little boy, who caught it all too eagerly, juggling it about his hands and staring at Zabuza with surprise and suspicion. The older man glared back, "Scram!" he snapped.

The little boy took his little prize and ran off, and Zabuza turned once more to put another into his mouth when something small tugged on his pants. He growled, looking down he saw a little girl as scruffy as the first looking up expectingly at him. He dropped the fish in his hands at her and kicked her off, though for some reason, she giggled as she ran away. For all he remembered, being kicked away wasn't all that pleasant. A cold wind ruffled his hair and caused him to shudder. He moved closer to the grill, close enough his clothes might catch on fire, and picked up another hot fish throwing it whole in his mouth. Again he threw his head back and blew almost whistling out the hot air, but he ate contently. Two little arms clung on to his leg, shuddering away from the cold as well. Aww, he thought, that little boy is cold too …

"Get off!" he grumbled.

The little boy glared back at him with demand, Zabuza let out a groan, throwing him some food and kicking him away too. Soon more and more little heads looked up to him expectantly, till at last, though he fed them, roared at them to leave him alone. He himself only had two servings and he was terribly hungry with no place to stay and three days of travel; he needed his own share. When he reached out for a third the old women swatted his hand away with her fan, "You're payment's up." Zabuza scowled,

Being nice was expensive.

A gentle creamy fair hand brushed past his as laid another note over his before retreating, his eyes following it. A woman stood beside him with the smallest of smiles, green eyes glittering as they met his dark pair, "I'm paying," she murmured, "I've never seen anyone do that before." She nodded at a little orphan happily feasting in the opposite alley. Women were sentimental, he thought, as if he had not cried the rivers of Kiri over The Great Naruto Bridge a week ago.

He grunted, giving her a brisk nod, "And I've never seen someone pay another for doing it," he huffed,

"You have no job," she retorted eyes on the grill with a slight smirk.

Zabuza narrowed his eyes slowly turning to her and all she did was hold up the note to him. The winds must've carried it to her. He growled a soft growl as he snatched it and crumpled it in his own hand, "I don't need charity,"

"It's not," she shrugged, lifting a little fish to her mouth and blowing softly, before she took a little bite, "It's a simple thanks,"

"For what?"

"For giving them a chance to live to tomorrow," she murmured between her soft chews.

"I don't elongate lives,"

"You help nurture them,"

Her voice was akin to a whisper with sound to it, and he didn't like how she had fast short answers for his every remark, as if intending to prove him wrong or something. He continued frowning at her for a long while before finally reaching out to the food and popping one in his mouth, "It's your gift I ain't owing you anything,"

"Who said you did? As a matter of fact, I might as well owe you,"

"For what?" He demanded, what did this woman want exactly?

She smiled looking up to his dark eyes, her tied back dirty blonde locks had a slight wave to them, he noted, when they danced in the slight wind, "I'll keep that to myself."

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><p><em>* "Death has a peculiar way of reshuffling one's priorities." Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean.<em>

_** "When have you made people slaves when their mothers gave birth to them free?" Arab quote, Omar bin AlKhataab._

_*** Shishamo is a salt water fish about 15 centimeters in length._

I hope it's good enough to read ^^" And I know I'm horrible I always start one and I don't go past the first chapter, but I have high hopes for this one,

Please R&R :)


	2. Edgeless Katana

Momochi Solitude

Ch. 2 Edgeless Katana

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of it's characters. However, Asami, Eiji and the nameless mentor are mine.

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><p>Asami groaned, rolling over and hugging her pillow closely to her chest. The constant ringing of the alarm clock so early in the morning was excruciating. She tried burying her head into the pillow, but it's ring remained constant, demanding that either she gets up or turns it off. Eventually she kicked off her covers and extended her long legs to the bedside table, sending the blasted contraption crashing into the wall. Silence was bliss. Only now, sleep had deserted her. Sleep was the most peculiar thing, it took over your being when you least expected it, and deserted you when you most needed it. Much like a worthless boyfriend, she snorted.<p>

She never had one, nor did she want one. That was one of the reasons why so many young girls looked up to her. Why kunoichi deemed her lifestyle the most perfect. She had no one, her parents died in missions, her grandmother a few years back of old age, and she was left alone. Independent was the word the public favored. She was _independent_. And they loved her for it. Her independence was the goal of every other kunoichi out there. No man to boss her around or play with her heart. Utter freedom was her world in their eyes, and they were thirsty for it. She sighed as she sat up, resting her bare feet on the carpeted floor under her. She hugged the pillow to her chest and took a deep breath through the nose turning to glance outside at the still darkened skies. Frowning she abruptly threw it away,

Independence my stinking pillow.

What independence? In her context independence was just a nice word to dilute the horrendous state she was in. She was alone. It was that simple. She wasn't independent or free, no, she was miserably lonely. The hot water ran down her back and her neck and the steam rose, fogging her little bathroom. She raised her head to feel the attack of water spears on her face, before pressing her forehead to the wall, allowing it to drench her being. Two little drops of water travelled, as they usually did every morning, down her nose and into the puddles of running water. Every morning she remembered that she was no longer going to smell the aroma of freshly steamed gyoza and hot rice from the kitchen. Everyday she remembered she would not call, 'Itekimasu!' to her grandmother who would wish her safety as she ran down the street with a steamed bun in her mouth. And every morning she couldn't help the two little drops escaping her eyes and traveling down her nose in consequence.

She often thought what was it like to have a man in the house. A man who would collect her in his arms every morning and every night. Be there for her, cook with her, call 'Okairi' whenever she returned, if only for a few minutes. She really did fantasize about her ideal type, blush when a handsome man walked by, thought it would be nice to have a man with a good amount of abs … She was girl she was! And yet … Despite her long legs, her neither fat nor thin balanced figure, her dirty blonde hair and sparkling green eyes, plump chest and waist, she was all alone. And she never dated. Not once, nor will she ever. She's seen girls dating before, and was in fact excited to know all about it. How did they make a connection, the advances, how they met. And she, like all other girls found it at one point romantic and fantastical. But, what happened after the first pink weeks wasn't all that appealing. The fights, the other girls, the other guys, the beatings sometimes, the pregnancy; in which he took off as if wings sprouted from his back and propelled him away. The man had no commitment to the woman, so why would he stay if he got bored? If he found another love that would satisfy his _needs_ ? If he thought he found his one true love elsewhere? Nothing obligated him to stay. And she the same. What if she found another man? What if she was convinced her true love is elsewhere? What if she gets pregnant and he decides he's too poor or too young to loiter around a pregnant woman?

No, she dreamed for a man who would marry her. That way, she could slit his throat if he ran from his responsibilities and she would _not_ be blamed. Of course, she did dream for a perfect husband. Tall, handsome, muscled, kind-hearted, gentle; all the good things in the world. She day dreamed about it. She always had these rosy paintings in her head before she went to sleep, maybe tomorrow she would wake up and meet such a man, she thought.

The striped blue short-sleeved shirt was neatly folded over the camouflage patterned miniskirt and placed over the wash basket in her bathroom. It was the Seven swordsmen's uniform. Blue stripes and camouflage pattern. Or the cow's patterns as she liked to call it. Only, she had it as a short sleeved shirt with a V neck and a miniskirt that reached up to just before the beginning of her knee. She normally wore a fishnet tank top under her shirt to cover what would show from the low V neck. It was bad enough to be in an all men's group but to have their eyes uncomfortably circling her being was just too much. Non of those idiots matched her requirements anyway.

Asami skipped down the spiraled flight of stairs in her compact apartment, landing in the kitchen. She was not bothered for toast or milk and certainly did not have the time to start cooking rice. Her purse had enough money in it and eating out from the freshly cooked foods on the street before work seemed like a much more appealing idea. She strapped Nuibari to her back; she was the successor of the sewing needle. Being the only girl and the present owner of the sewing needle led her fellow teammates to be rather _teasing _to say the least. The irony of a female wielding the sewing needle was a wonderful joke subject. But nevertheless she threatened, one day, she would sew their carcasses together. Witnessing her at work increased the weight on her threat and now they only seldom open their mouths about it.

The air outside was cold. She shuddered as it's winds danced about her face. Another day in Kiri, it was never different. She would walk down the street in the cold, the snow, through the markets. The people never changed, nor did the scenery. Only, maybe in what they could call summer, the sun was warmer and snow almost completely melted. But nevertheless, the orphans were always barefoot running around. The elderly were sitting beside their stalls, some smoking pipes, others cooking, some speaking with customers. Probably the one thing she loved about it was the street food. The culture came out in the colors and scents, the spices and the tastes. It was simple but magnificently satisfying.

"Get off!"

She jumped turning to see, yet another usual sight. Someone kicking away a little orphan. It made her blood boil. Not only was the little one _little_ but he was actually searching for warmth against the older man's leg. She almost reached for the hilt of her legendary sword, determined to chop him up in five and sew him together as a chunk of meat for her wolf summon's dinner. As soon as she took another step though, eyes fierce glaring at the man who took no notice of her being, her eyes widened. After his rude shout at the little boy he threw him some shishamo and told him to scram. He was the rudest thing she's ever seen, but the rudeness was not what made her being freeze in it's place, no, it was his throw. He actually threw food to the child. No, he actually fed an orphan …

Unbelievable!

A little girl came and one followed her then a little boy and more little ones and he fed each and every one of them! Albeit he kicked them away and shooed them off rudely after throwing the fish to them as if he was feeding cats but … but … they ran away _giggling. _More of them came bombarding him with with glaring, demanding eyes and more were sent away with a giggle and a prize. He had a severe frown on his face when they finally settled down in the nooks and crannies of the dark side alley ways enjoying their meals, threatening any of them who thought of seconds. Asmai found herself giggling at his sight. He was a tall, tan, muscled brute with a deathly glare but for some reason she giggled at his sight. She giggled at his frown, his pout and his scowl, as if he was in fact making faces for her to laugh more. But her giggles came to a screeching halt as a piece of paper flew at her shin. Her fingers trailed down and caught it, her eyes running over the one sentence it bore,

'Get a job.'

She blinked, get a job? Definitely not for her, she already had a rather life-threatening one. It must've been someone's and they lost it amongst the paper wrappers and bags littered around every corner.

"Ah!"

Her green eyes flickered away from the paper and on to the rude brute again. His yelp caught less attention than his shouts at the children did, and it soon lost it because it was only a dry yelp. She however kept her eyes on the scene between the old shopkeeper and the brute,

"Your payment's up." The old woman mouthed in a scolding yet matter of fact tone. The brute frowned, it seemed he didn't have any more money to spend on breakfast … She frowned, looking down at the paper again,

Ah, I see …

Asami smirked holding the paper between her forefinger and her middle finger and took long strides forward. The smell of the grilled shishamo was in itself rewarding, and she did plan on having breakfast on the street didn't she?

Perfect.

Her smirk widened into a grin, but she twirled around and steadied herself, wiping the naughty little girl's grin off her face. Turning back she continued, stretching her long flawless hand and landing a note on top of his previous payment, "I'm paying … " She muttered.

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><p>After their short and funny conversation she opted to keep her feelings to herself. Though she didn't voice it to him earlier, but she felt grateful. Very grateful. It's as if he brought a jug filled with hope syrup and poured it down her throat. She never saw orphans so happy, a man so funny, and yet so gentle and kind. However much of a brute he seemed to be, it didn't change the fact that he fed little orphaned children in a state of poverty. He had no job, a limited amount of money, and instead of taking eyes filled with false sympathy away, he<em> did <em>something. He actually did something. The rest of the locals seldom did. They just looked away pretending to be pained at their sight, and shoot excuses like 'I have my own share of mouths to feed'. But no, this man, this man was different. He was gentleman-like, kind and-

Oh no. She was at it again. She was painting a painting in her head. One that featured the tanned brute on a white horse with her in front of them and Kiri at their backs. Good Lord how could she be so childish? She was one of the Seven for God's sake and yet! And yet … His image never left her mind. He was all too good to be true! He was rude yes, a proud man for sure, but his actions shouted over the few words that left his mouth in her head. Soon enough, she knew, as she stepped into her office she would be … If not already, madly in love. She had to be careful though, love always tasted sweet on the outside, but most of the time turned bitter on the inside. Especially if it was one sided. Yes, she shouldn't get her head high in the clouds. She shuffled the papers in front of her and picked up a pen, she wasn't likely to ever see him again anyway. She didn't even know his name.

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><p>"Ken."<p>

The old man looked up at the tanned youth who gave his name, "Ken huh?" he replied smoking his pipe. "Well, Ken, you must know this smithy does everything. Arrow heads, blades, kunai, shuriken, swords, silver, gold, iron, steel, copper, locks and every metal object you can imagine. I ain't like those who give themselves specific titles and narrow the industry. We also make our own hilts and holders, and sew our own sheaths and leather, got it?"

Zabuza only nodded, eyes unforgiving though he really did not intend a glare per say. The old man expected no reply, instead continued, "ever held a sword before?"

Zabuza fought his own tongue viciously. It seemed to think that the answer his brain came up with was unacceptable, but whatever _it_ was going to say might land him in the dungeons. After a slight pause he answered, "I think I have a good background with swords." Hoping his answer was void of any sarcasm he eyed the man getting up and pulling out a sword, setting down on the table in front of him. It was dark with an abrupt, uncompleted cutting edge, Zabuza instantly knew the answer to the next man's question.

"You know what this is Ken?" He asked, hands clenching the cloth of his shirt near his hips.

"It's still being made, it's not ready yet."

The man nodded slightly and only slightly impressed at the youth's answer. "You're right, still is in the making," he paused sighing and moving away from the table. "Finish it," he clasped a hand on Zabuza's shoulder, "and you get the job."

With that the old man left his smithy for some work of his. Zabuza let out a loud groan after the old man left, 'have you ever held a sword before?' Really? No, I'm just one of the Seven legendary swordsmen of the mist! You might've just heard of them before! His tongue seemed to shoot out it's answers to him now, seeing that the other man was gone. Oh it pained him dearly to have to be someone other than Momochi Zabuza. His name was Zabuza, not Ken. He was a well-known shinobi, not a blacksmith, and he certainly was the master, not the apprentice. The role of apprentice he deserted along time ago with no plans on _ever_ returning to it. Especially as his previous master was a walking nightmare …

He let out a long sigh, he needed a place to stay, for a place to stay he needed money, and for money he needed a job. Once a hobby, sharpening swords now was the only way he could provide rice for himself. Do what he must he would, after all, he didn't ascend the ranks to ANBU and swordsman out of nothing. Zabuza was meticulous, focused and unyielding. He had to do this and he had to do it right for the time being, when he's sorted things out for himself, he would start thinking about what he really was going to do with his life.

He took his jacket off and threw it on a wooden chair, he'd be sweating his life away soon and a jacket wouldn't be helping in any manner. The scars on his back were evident, and though he felt fine, opening one of them was going to prove as a hindrance, so he must work cautiously. He grabbed the sword and lit the forge, taking the hammer to start the soldering. The damned old man said finish it in a way that made it seem he'll only finish the sword. But he knew it was a trick, and he'll have to do more than that. He'll probably have to do the woodwork and the decorations on the hilt -and- make the sheath and …

It was going to be a long day.

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><p>A good three hours later Zabuza was still hard at work. At the moment the metal was cooling down, and he sat on a stool with fabrics and leather in his hands. He's seen it done once or twice, so he'll manage. To him this was more challenging than banging a piece of metal to confession. The door creaked open behind him, letting in a gush of cold air. It soothed his aching back and his sweat-drenched being greatly. His scars were finally cooling down if only for a moment. Ever since he started sweating the salty liquid seeped in and soon they stung like a thousand daggers pressed against his back. The door shut with a thud and the cool air was no more. Zabuza was frowning at the thread, sewing machine and the leather. From his expression one would think a master at his craft. In reality he was a lost child caught in a crowd. How did this work exactly?<p>

"I see you haven't left? That piece of metal doesn't take a long time … " The owner smirked, then it slightly faded when he brushed past the youth, noticing the scars.

"You said finish the sword," Zabuza muttered in low leveled tones, looking up at the older man.

The owner sighed, pulling a stool beside Zabuza and sat down. "Name's Eiji" he started, taking the materials from Zabuza's hand and taking a small knife, carving into the leather. Zabuza straightened his back, blinking at the old man, "What?" The old man chuckled, "You got the job."

"I did?" The younger man frowned.

"Yea," Eiji nodded, eyes focused on his work. "You actually took it seriously and was intent on actually finishing the katana fully, not just the blade." He chuckled, "You even knew it was intended to be a katana."

"The steel is authentic tamahagane, it's long, almost 60 cm in length, it's slightly curved and since you asked to finish the cutting edge I had to use 'sword quenching' and continue the intended soshu kitae shape … anyone can see that." As Zabuza spoke Eiji stopped working and eyed him with one eyebrow raised. He snorted, a smile lifting his lips,

"No, not _anyone _can see that … "

Zabuza was slightly taking aback by his answer, he could see the old man eyeing him with much curiosity in his dark eyes. He had brown hair, neither dark nor light and a slight beard. A twirled piece of cloth was tied to one side on his head. "So," he started again, "those are some nasty scars."

The younger man looked away for a moment and back, letting out a sigh. He couldn't possibly explain it so he opted to keep quiet. "You lived after so many scars, or rather _stabs _kid you really must be something,"

"I'm without a job," Zabuza cut him off abruptly, "and I'm grateful for this one so thank you."

The older man chuckled to his heart's content. "Well, you deserved it kid, I could only tell what a unfinished sword is intended to be after twenty years in the business,"

"Well I'm only twenty six," the youth cut him off again, "there's only so much I know, if I knew anymore I'd be the wielder of Kubikiri Boucho."

Oh, the irony.

Eiji snorted, "Don't talk about the wielder of Kubikiri Boucho, received it at nineteen the poor fellow … "

Zabuza tilted his head to one side, "Poor fellow?"

"Oh yes, you know the tradition, the trainee learns at the hands of the current wielder. The previous wielder of Kubikiri Boucho is the human manifestation of the word horrid."

Zabuza turned away, hiding his face behind his thigh and scratching his head. The grin on his face was so wide, but he couldn't have the old man see it. He took a moment to gather himself together, then questioned, "How so?"

"A washed up sixty year old, if he was any more rude than he already was, he'd be the definition of the word on legs." Eiji almost snapped. The mere mention of the old crack-head got on his nerves.

Zabuza was in pain, trying to force his facial muscles not to contort into the largest of smiles, and his mouth not to let out the laugh of the century. "Why, what did he do?"

"That man is a monster!" Eiji declared wholeheartedly. "His trainees died on mere training trips not even proper missions. I walked past one once, the poor fellow was tied up with the thickest of ropes, and left to rot in an alley way for weeks as survival training. No food," he counted on his fingers, "no water, no trips to the bathroom, and he had to escape from his binds in the cold harsh winter barefoot and shirtless buried in the snow." Zabuza could tell from his tone, that Eiji absolutely abhorred his mentor's unique teaching methods. "That man's a lunatic!" The older man gasped, almost horrified at his own memory. "I don't know how that boy did it, but he is something great to put up with that cracked up nut-head. Demon or not that boy is admirable."

"Really?" Zabuza asked with raised eyebrows. "He's a criminal, lead a rebellion … " he muttered, actually anticipating the next answer.

"Whatever his reasons were," the old man waved a hand, "it was better for Kiri to lose the previous Kage and it did, shortly after that boy's rebellion." He let out a sigh, "he's wasted his life when he was still too young for any of this … only nineteen … " He shook his head in slight dismay, "Only nineteen the wielder of Kubikiri Boucho. It's great thing, don't get me wrong, being Kubikiri's wielder means he's never given up once in his life, it's just," his gleaming dark eyes met the youth's, "you know from how young he is, so high in an industry like that, with a reputation like that, he had no family." Eiji shrugged, turning back to the leather, "no family to keep him from maturing earlier than he should."

Zabuza stared at the ground for a while, this old man understood everything. They've never met in person till today and yet, he could tell by a sword a person was holding, what they were like inside out. A true sword master. "Well, I have to finish what I started," he muttered reaching out for the materials.

The old man grinned, slapping his head softly, "My swords take months to perfect, not a mere three hours." He chuckled, "You really do have a lot to learn yet." He got up, Zabuza following suit, "Tomorrow at eight we start." Zabuza nodded as the older man patted his back, then moved to sort out his materials. He uttered a quick 'Ja' and left, meeting the cold air with a shudder. Priorites, Zabuza thought as he started to walk away, he needed an apartment as close to the smithy as possible. Then again, he narrowed his eyes …

Eiji looked up as the door opened again, "Irashai ma-" he stopped abruptly, "Ken? You forgot something?"

Zabuza took a deep breath closing the door to keep out the harsh cold. "Can I pay you rent?"

* * *

><p>OMG ch.2 is up! Hehe this is really big for me, thanks for my pestering friends, though I didn't get much hits and was slightly downhearted they threatened my life if I didn't write this so here it is xD ! Enjoy and please do R&amp;R :) edit** I'm so sorry i forgot the breaks " fixed :)<p> 


	3. Thank God for Bread

Momochi Solitude ch. 4

Thank God for Bread

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of it's characters. However, Asami, Eiji and the nameless mentor are mine.

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><p>Momochi Zabuza, or rather Ken, was one meticulous man. At 6:00 am he was out of the futon, 6:15 he was out of the shower and 6:20 he was out of the smithy. He had planned on going to the market place and getting himself a quick breakfast before his first day at work started.<p>

Work.

Other than picking up a scroll and doing exactly what it said, he never worked before. Work was associated with missions, or what one can call military work. Never any civilian-sort of work. It was a novel feeling indeed, living with a master, receiving orders from one person only; no higher ups in the matter. It was all too intimate, too close. Then again, the old man was really something. As soon as he recognized a sword, he saw through it to the soul of the wielder. That admirable ability of his though, Zabuza noted, could turn into something quite dangerous. What if he manages to find out that Ken is actually the Demon of the Hidden Mist himself? Zabuza could see that the old man was quite capable of such a thing. He was smart and perceptive and soon, he would realize.

Walking down the street Zabuza rubbed his hands together. Today was a little colder than yesterday, and he was not used to having his face out in the open all the time. Something warm and nice would do, he thought. He needed a good breakfast to be able to make it through the day without the hot nature of his new job killing him. After all, being a smith was a rather demanding job. Only three hours at it yesterday and he felt like a grilled shishamo, with his scars tingling and stinging as if his skin was crumpling on the grill. Wonderful images you are filling your head with before breakfast eh? He scoffed at himself. A small sigh escaped his lips when he neared the bustling streets of the market. Even at this time of the day, it was already filled with life. Most of the people walking around at this time of day were shinobi and fishermen. The fishermen were grabbing a quick bite before their fishing trips and the shinobi needed a quick bite before receiving new orders to have someone murdered, spied upon or the likes. Now the actual food-hunting won't take long. Looking around he spotted some natto, hmmm, no he wasn't in the mood for beans today. Some grilled fish … no he ate fish yesterday. Yesterday's charity girl, hmmm, no- He froze,

Yesterday's charity girl.

What was she doing here? Why must they meet in the same place at the same time just the next day? He huffed slightly, he didn't care either way. Or did he … ? Zabuza narrowed his eyes, something peculiar on her back caught his full attention. Nuibari? His eyes widened ever so slightly, she was from the Seven? The next Nuibari? A girl? She really must be something, defeating all odds and entering the seven, Nuibari's wielder to be exact. Oh, he ran a finger along his jaw line, should he tell the old man he wondered, what he would say … hmmm, he would definitely be able to tell her inside out … But why was he bothered? He shouldn't be, he should be bothered with his own stomach at the moment. The smell of freshly baked bread filled his nostrils. Turning, he found a stall filled to the brim with all colors of bread. Bread wasn't filling though, he'd take one and then go look for a proper meal. He popped some coins in a basket, picked up a small rounded piece of bread and moved on, looking for something else. One bite filled his mouth with the juice of a cherry tomato, and the succulent ooze of melted mozzarella. He moaned softly, it was too good to be true. Just to think, fifty years ago they had limited knowledge concerning cheese and butter. It almost made life seem impossible. Literally barbecues couldn't have existed; they used butter like there was no tomorrow. If it was one thing Zabuza cared more about than his sword, it was his stomach. On days that he could afford such luxuries however, and being in the shinobi business succeeded in making that a rarity.

"Oh, Job-san."

Zabuza turned with a raised eyebrow, the last of the bun hanging from his mouth. He chewed it in and with it still puffing up his cheek he muttered, "Job-san?"

"Well, yes," Asami smiled, "I don't know your name, and I can only remember you had no job, and that you are big … " She struggled to keep in a giggle; his face was hilarious. He was almost going to start growling at her like a hungry, angered wolf, whom she tried to pet. She continued past him, there was a stall to her left that she was quite eager to reach. "I see you're from the bread-generation."

His eyebrows traveled further up his brow, "Bread-generation?"

"You eat bread in the morning," she explained simply.

Zabuza frowned, more curious about the stall she lead him to rather than her. It was just perfect … "There's something wrong with eating bread in the morning?" He murmured passively, eyes glued to the soy-based soup, the noodles and the peculiar looking tempura.

"Oh no, it's just I like my old-fashioned breakfast. If I were to have bread it would either be a disastrous morning or a quick lunch," Asami realized he wasn't paying much attention to her as he was the food, picking out his wallet he was already ordering a bowl. This stall's manager left two or three stools on the side but most of his customers ate standing. He would take out a ladle and scoop two full ladles of soup, then slide in the noodles, and finally finish off with a just-fried vegetable sort of tempura. She didn't really know what it was but it was rather delicious.

"Well then let's hope you never have to eat bread."

The sentence just came out of his mouth as any other and he took no further notice of it. However she on the other hand, she took all the notice in the world of it. Let's hope you never have to eat bread? Did it translate to let's hope you never have a disastrous morning? Or let's hope you have proper lunches? Her eyes were wide wide wide. A little pink hue colored her cheeks, and two finger snapped in front of her,

"Your bowl neechan!" The manager snapped. She gasped, taking it from him and muttering a quick 'oh sorry' bowing her head slightly. She cracked her chopsticks apart and blew over her noodles slightly. From the corner of her eye she could see Job-san licking his bowl clean and asking for another one. The manager was high in spirits seeing that his food was loved, she though slurped on her noodles and chewed slowly, turning to him,

"You got a job congratulations."

Zabuza turned with narrowed eyes at her, "How did you know?"

"You can afford seconds," she stated simply, taking a bite of her tempura.

Zabuza continued raising an eyebrow at her as he received his second bowl, the steam tickling his chin as he held the bowl up to dig in again. Cold wind ruffled his hair and warm soup warmed his face and his hands, but he knew he couldn't enjoy the luxury for long. "So maybe I did," he took a bite of his own tempura, "what difference does it make to you?"

She shrugged, "I don't know … I guess it's nice to know you got a job,"

He snorted, "What are you? My wife?"

Again, he said it and took no further notice of it. However she, she skyrocketed in her head. Wife! He said wife! He didn't say girlfriend, he didn't say girl … he said wife! Wife! Her cheeks flushed, this man … he might be the one …

"Oi Neechan! You done? Put the bowl down and step aside please other people are waiting!"

She blinked confused, "Oh sorry!" She put the empty bowl down and turned to either side of her, the rude brute! He was gone! He just- Just left like that! She frowned, hurrying away from the stall, looking around. Where did he go? She fisted her hands and pouted, Urghhhh …

She didn't even get his name yet!

* * *

><p>Zabuza closed the door behind him. His breakfast outings were somehow plagued by that girl. Whenever he went out to eat she was there, causing him to arrive to the safe conclusion that she lived alone. She had no one to cook for her, and being a high-esteemed shinobi he knew how busy it can get as one of the seven. She must be too tired and not bothered in the least to cook anything for herself by the end of her day. Starved for sleep she wouldn't wake up early enough to make breakfast, she probably only woke early enough for a shower.<p>

"Okairi,"

Zabuza jerked up, he was caught completely off-guard by an old man with his arms crossed over his chest. Eiji eyed him pointedly with one raised eyebrow, expecting some sort of answer. The youth blinked, licking his lips and staring back with a blank face at the old man. He pointed at the door with his thumb and muttered, "Went out for breakfast."

"Really?"

Zabuza blinked three times. Why was the old man eyeing him that way and what was with the overly sarcastic tone? He nodded once slowly, "Yea, really … "

"Alright, let me lay some house rules for ya."

House rules? Zabuza could never be more confused. He was sure he came here to work, and he was also sure he did not sign any adoption papers. Were they in his pack? As crazy as his old mentor got, he would never do such a thing. He actually would prefer to keep Zabuza all to himself, hence the fake identity and the death facade. That senile crack-head was always plotting sinister plans and then decorated them with noble excuses, and if Zabuza was sure about one thing, he was not saved out of pure student-master bonds. This was not Konoha and his mentor had no will of fire. Still, this old man was all the more confusing and Zabuza could safely say he's had his enough of anyone above forty.

"I have been cooking breakfast all morning to find your room empty," Eiji started, walking slowly towards Zabuza. "Let me make myself clear. We have breakfast at home, lunch out and dinner at home. Get it? I am using the word 'we' to clear any confusion you might have," the old man narrowed his eyes slightly.

Zabuza frowned dangerously, "We? But-"

"No buts," Eiji cut the younger man off. "We are going to start living together, working together, we will eat together, scrub each other's backs and I have a large delivery," he pointed at some boxes, "Of equipment which I have no where to shove but your room. This leaves only my room for the both of us, understand?"

Zabuza let out a sigh, "I can only afford to pay you for the rent … "

Eiji's eyebrows shot up for a second, mouth open slightly. The little one actually expected him to demand payment for the food he would feed him and the soap he would lend him? No wonder he looked so confused all the while he was talking. The old man moved forward to the frowning youth and cracked his palm against his cheek. His eyes widened so fast and his own palm reached high up stroking the stinging cheek. Zabuza was internally reprimanding himself, he couldn't guard a slap? He was that loose around this man while even around his mentor he kept his guard up. Well … around _him_ it was a necessity. Eiji moved away, putting on his gloves and lighting the fires, chuckling softly and shaking his head. Zabuza raised his eyebrow at the old man, fingers trailing from his cheek bone to his jaw line. He narrowed his eyes when the old man's shot up at him again,

"Why-"

"You didn't return my okairi," Eiji cut him off abruptly. Zabuza tilted his head blurted out,

"Tadaima. Now why-"

"You an orphan kid?" Eiji cut him off a second time. Zabuza was slightly taken aback by the question. This man was too dangerously perceptive. Too much for a mere civilian who was not even a shinobi. First he displays a talent in telling people's personalities through their swords, now he can manage to guess at some life experience accurately in a very peculiar yet fitting timing. He nodded only once,

"Yes,"

"I figured." The old man chuckled, "Come on, get your jacket off and start working, and no more questions," the old man grinned slyly, "you're grounded."

Zabuza glared at the old man. He was making no sense, no sense at all. Grounded? Scrub each other's backs? What was next? He scoffed,

Grandchildren?

* * *

><p>The heat was unbearable. Zabuza felt his face would melt off every time he banged a piece of metal into shape. The little sparks caused him to squint in fear of anything shooting up at his eyes, and every once in a while he'd get a slight sting on his face, and even though he wore no shirt, he was drenched with sweat. He had a small towel hanging from his neck and every few minutes he would wipe his face and neck, panting and coughing slightly from the smoke. He didn't do well with smoke. It was far too hot here, far too hot. What would Hell be like? God forbid … It's a damn smithy and he can't take it, Hell? Zabuza shook his head, God forbid …<p>

"Ow!" He yelped as something hard hit the back of his head. The door to the furnace closed abruptly causing him to wince and turn, realizing that the old man had slid it shut with a poker.

"You were banging too hard and the thing," he nodded at the furnace, "was too loud you didn't hear me say stop." He bent down frowning at the sword Zabuza had been banging into shape. "The middle is section is thinner than the rest of the blade," he rolled his eyes, "The thickness and thinness of a blade is determined in the layering process using the clay, not now." Raising one eyebrow he considered the youth who was trying to pant discreetly, if such a thing could actually be done, "You're head is elsewhere."

Zabuza growled at him softly with narrowed eyes. It's been a good five hours in an inhumanly hellish environment, his concentration span was bound to shorten. Still … Zabuza frowned at the piece of metal. He was meticulous, and such a mistake he didn't tolerate, no matter the excuse, even from himself. "Won't happen again," he mumbled.

"Good, now get a jacket on and let's go, we have a two hour lunch break and then we must resume another excruciating five hours before we can call it a day." Eiji grinned as he wiped himself off clean and put on a fresh shirt. He normally wore kimono tops with the sleeves rolled up over his shoulders, or any other asian-looking top. Zabuza on the other hand did wipe himself clean with a wet towel but proceeded to put on his sandals and storm out of the house shirtless.

"Good Lord have mercy … " he mumbled as a gush of cold harsh wind passed over his body. Eiji let out a series of hoarse chuckles as he stepped out after him,

"It's only your first day, having trouble with the heat already?"

Zabuza turned quite abruptly at the old man with narrowed eyes, "I have been raised in the frost covered nooks and crannies of good old Kirigakure, I can't withstand temperatures above thirty degrees! It was akin to seventy five in there!" He directed his arm towards the smithy. Eiji threw his head back and laughed wildly,

"Surely you have been to hot springs before? Why even the bath water at home is higher than thirty!"

Zabuza glared at the old man, "If you stay in a hot spring for an hour you are considered _crazy_. I have been in there," he pointed at the smithy, "for five."

Eiji gripped his knee and continued to laugh his heart out while the youth just glared at him. Though he did feel like breathing fire at the man's face, he was quite admirable to stand like that for long hours without a proper chakura circulatory system. Zabuza turned away to look straight ahead at the road to find … his eyes widened,

Oh dear.

"Job-san?" Asami almost shrieked at his sight, trying to hold back a giggle. The man was dressed with simple bandages wrapped around his torso. That was about it. Eiji had composed himself and now was thoroughly interested in why a beautiful woman who was also one of the respected Seven addressing his apprentice as job-san.

Breakfast eh?

Asami's green eyes were focused at the man's torso, her brow only slightly frowning. She was actually concerned with what was _not_ a naughty thought. "Those bandages are rather sweaty shouldn't you be changing them?" She pointed at the clearly soggy wrappings.

Eiji eyed her for a moment, turning to Zabuza with a look of concern of his own. "She's right Ken, you don't change those you might get a serious infection."

Asami's eyes only slightly widened, finally …

Ken.

She grinned with triumph.

* * *

><p>"Is this really necessary?"<p>

Zabuza was grumbling seated on a stool outside of the smithy, that woman tending to his wounds, rubbing them with ointment and wrapping them with a fresh roll of bandages. He had absolutely refused to go back in, hoping they would just leave him alone. Eiji on the other hand shrugged and pulled a stool outside, seating him on it and pulled another one for Asami. She insisted on taking care of his back and he founded rather unnecessary. He knew how to take care of himself and he saw no point in getting his wounds a change of bandages now. He was going to come back after two hours for another gruesome five which would render the current wrappings sweaty again. It made much more sense to tend to them after the night's shower, but who would listen to him?

"Yes it is." She mouthed for the one-hundredth time. "Where did you get all these?"

Zabuza let out a sigh and growled, "I was addressing the old man."

Asami scowled and pressed a bit too hard on one of the healing scabs causing Zabuza to frown and let out a 'Umph'. "Easy!" He snapped.

Eiji rolled his eyes, "Yes it is."

Zabuza glared back at the old man, then at the ground. Why was it that every time he stepped on the streets of Kiri she appeared there? And why did she insist on leeching off him for entertainment or whatever it was her motive of always trailing behind him? "There," she pronounced, patting his back gently, "all done."

"Thank God," he mumbled getting off the stool so fast it almost toppled over. Eiji raised an eyebrow with a hint of a grin on his features, "thank her too," he nodded at Asami.

Zabuza scowled slightly and turned to Asami, nodding his head and muttering a quick 'suman'.

"Arigato guzuimashita," Eiji corrected narrowing his eyes at Zabuza while addressing the rising kunoichi. "Really Asami-sama to think-"

"Drop the -sama please." She only eyed him momentarily before she continued, "I'm sorry I cut you off but drop the -sama please." Eiji raised an eyebrow with slight grin and a puzzled look as she almost shrunk, hunching her shoulders as if she tried to hide away from them. When he didn't respond she ran a few fingers through her dirty blonde locks, clearly embarrassed, "I-" she sighed, "I'm only an innocent girl."

"I wouldn't say innocent seeing as you carry Nuibari on your back." Eiji's grin widened, and though she was slightly caught off guard by his response she giggled sheepishly,

"You can say so."

"Can we get going?" Zabuza jerked his head rudely between the two, attempting to break them off. "If I am to work as a mule for you I should at least get my fuel for it," he grumbled at the old man.

Eiji simply shrugged and turned, leading the way, "well I suppose an orphan such as you didn't become that big without reason."

Asami looked up at Zabuza with slightly wide eyes. An orphan? No wonder he behaved around them like that … He himself was one once upon a time. He must've knew, how hard it was to survive with numb little feet and rags too small on a frail body one cold winter night in Kiri. The fear of being killed by random drunk jounin, and where would the next meal come from … and when it would it be … She herself lost her parents at a tender age, but her grandmother made up for that and more. He however, had no one in a good measure of time, and he must've wished one of the men who ate grilled shishamo at a stall would throw him some, who would be eyeing them with envy from afar.

"But really Ken," Eiji started from over his shoulder, "you seem quite disinterested about the fact that the only female of the seven, wielder of Nuibari has bandaged your back and is walking with you to lunch, and has cast you a rather funny nickname too."

"If she would rather been seen as only human then I will see her so." He replied, without much hesitation. Asami liked that about Ken. He didn't bother turning to the old man, he kept his eyes where he needed them to be and answered like he was relating to someone his own name. It also caused her cheeks to turn slightly pink. He seemed to know exactly what she wanted when she wanted it and gave it to her exactly as she wanted it. For the time being, she needed to feel like she was another creature of this earth walking along minding her own business with friends. He gave her that on a silver platter and she could not be any more grateful.

Asami turned to Eiji, "I understand-" she frowned. Did she really never bother with other people's names? Or did she assume that she knew theirs like they knew hers?

"Eiji," Eiji smiled. She smiled back,

"I understand you run a smithy, Kubikiri Boucho will be retrieved soon and I doubt any one would swing it for a while seeing that Momochi senpai is dead. I thought maybe you could take a look at it, it may need some care coming out from a battle with Konoha's copy ninja."

Eiji was frowning thoughtfully, "Momochi Zabuza is dead?"

She nodded, "Momochi senpai has been dead for a few weeks now, we needed to confirm and I got the report this morning. He is dead." In addition to being in the seven swordsmen, Asami also had to run the ANBU. She was technically captain a short while after Zabuza turned rogue.

Eiji was frowning as he turned back to face the road, "Really … " he sighed. Just yesterday they were talking about the boy, and now he was dead. Of course, Eiji admitted the man was an international criminal and no longer a boy. Somehow though, he was fascinated by the sword and inevitably the wielder.

Zabuza merely snorted, "You don't like the honorifics yourself but you call him senpai even though you never met him before."

Asami frowned deeply eying pebble after pebble as they passed her. She stopped abruptly, turning to face Zabuza,

"How did _you_ know that?"

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><p>Sorry for the late update! It was surprisingly hard to write this one, I was stuck on more than one occasion but hey! Now it's up so enjoy. The nameless meant does have a name, but all will come out in due time xD Please R&amp;R and thx Dragonphi10 for the fav!<p> 


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